


Johnlock

by Wolf_dog



Series: My Prompts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Mentions of Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:57:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_dog/pseuds/Wolf_dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My prompts! Please send me a message if you wish to roleplay with me on any of these~!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1 - Hurt John

((Prompt: John is injured when Sherlock goes out without John, and John decides to go out by himself. Protective!Sherlock appreciated))

Groaning, sweat covering his body, his arm dangled limply at his side, blood dripping down it as his other hand pressed against the still-bleeding wound. He had gotten a bullet to his upper arm while he was out. Sure, he’d been trailing the suspicious man, but he hadn’t expected the man to have a bloody gun! Panting, he felt a wave of relief, so strong that he staggered, as he saw the flat. He’d been walking for a good fifteen minutes. His blood-stained hand shakily reached into his pocket and retrieved his key, and he stuffed it into the lock on his third try. The blood on his hand left an imprint on the handle as he pushed it open, but, at this moment, he didn’t care. He was glad that Mrs Hudson was obviously sleeping (he didn’t want her to worry) and stumbled his way into the consulting-detective free flat. Stumbling into the kitchen, he pulled out his first aid kit and dropped it on the table, breathing deeply. He was losing so much blood, he needed to stop it, and fast.


	2. 2- John and Sherlock After Sex

John woke slowly in a blissful haze. As his mind slowly began to wake up, he noticed he was butt-naked. An arm was wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to the equally as naked body behind him. Frowning slightly, his eyes snapping open in shock as these facts processed, he looked behind him and saw Sherlock’s sleeping face. Oh, god. They hadn’t. The pain in his arse confirmed that, indeed, they had. He’d had sex with Sherlock frikken Holmes. But, instead of feeling pleased or satisfied, he felt horrified. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t one for casual sex (hell, they weren’t in a relationship, what had he been thinking?). He just couldn’t handle it. Especially with Sherlock. Memories of the night before began to filter into his mind and he gave a soft groan. He remembered telling Sherlock he loved him as he fell asleep, but not Sherlock saying it back. God, he was a complete idiot. Starting to panic now, he began to gently pry Sherlock’s hand away from his middle. He couldn’t face rejection like this. Not from Sherlock. He loved the man so much, it wasn’t fair. He would do anything to keep Sherlock safe and with him, but not this. He couldn’t just be a ‘fuck buddy’ to Sherlock. He wanted a relationship, a proper one.


	3. 3 - John Go to Army When Teen

Sherlock and John met at an early age – Sherlock was only 8, if he remembered correctly. Sherlock had been much, much different as a kid than he was now. Sherlock had been hopeful, and much more trusting, and more eager to show off. When he’d met John, they’d just clicked. For many years, they’d been great friends – the best of friends. They promised to never _ever_ leave each other, and to never stop being friends. Then, when John was 19, he started talking about joining the army and going to be an army doctor. At first, Sherlock had tried to persuade John to change his mind. He hadn’t wanted to lose John. His first friend. The man he had loved, but had been too scared to change their relationship into something more in case John got disgusted and left him altogether. He’d rather love John silently, with a chance of them getting together, than to lose John. John had argued with him for a while, before they agreed to not talk about it, seeing as it distressed them both.

 

Then, when John turned 20, he withdrew from Sherlock slightly, and started keeping secrets from him. Sherlock could _tell_. It hurt him severely, but he didn’t mention it. They didn’t hang out as much after that, and Sherlock said nothing, instead retreating more into himself, wondering why John was doing this. Was it something he had done? Something he had said, perhaps? He would find out a year later, when John would appear on his doorstep, looking slightly older, but still smiled at Sherlock like he always had, and asked if he could stay the night. Sherlock was happy to let John in, and they had a nice night together, eating Chinese take-out, and watching crappy action films, Sherlock half-heartedly complaining about them, just to get a reaction out of John. They slept in the same bed, as they always did, but when Sherlock woke, the bed was cold and empty, the only sign of John being a note. It explained that he was sorry, but he had signed up for the army, and hadn’t wanted their last day together to be one of anger and sadness.

 

For the first year John was away, Sherlock was furious at him, fuming about John had broken his promise, and what had happened to the ‘never /ever/ leaving’? He threw himself whole-heartedly into the consulting detective business, and ignored all the letters John sent him, and once the year was over, he missed John. A lot. More than he ever though he would. He sent clipping of articles he had helped solve, anonymous, just with John’s name on the front. He read through all the letters John had sent him the previous year, and found that he couldn’t stop loving him.

 

But, that had been 5 years ago, and now Sherlock was 25, had a good flat on 221B Baker Street, good cases, but never forgot about John. Indeed, he even had a photos of the two of them, safe in frames, up on the mantel piece. Whenever someone asked about John, he waved off their questions, saying he was a good friend and nothing more. Sherlock just wanted John back. But he didn’t know if John was still alive, or if he was back in London. He still sent clippings, more frequent as he had more cases now, and even a photo of himself shaking hands with Lestrade with the caption ‘DI Lestrade thanks Sherlock Holmes for helping bring back the kidnapped banker’. He missed John so much, and regretted that he had never told John that he loved him.

 

Now, it was the anniversary of the day John had left, and Sherlock sat in the park, the same park they had had many picnic’s at, under the shade of _their_ tree and closed his eyes as he waited for the minutes to tick by, until it was the time when he had woken up to find John gone, and that little note, which he carried now in his pocket. If John was still alive, and found him somehow, he wouldn’t be angry – not anymore. The time for childish anger was over. He just wanted /his/ John back. He wouldn’t let him go again.


	4. 4 - John Nightmares

John woke up shaking, sweat covering his body. “Sherlock!” he gasped as he opened his eyes, sitting upright in the sheets. Where was Sherlock? That nightmare had been bad – even worse than usual. He had previously tried to hide from Sherlock that he had been having nightmares, but this one… This was too much. In this one, he had seen Sherlock dying. Struggling in his panicking haste to disentangle himself from the sheets, he practically fell out of his bed and ran to the door, yanking it open and running quickly down the stairs. He needed to see Sherlock. He needed the reassurance that Sherlock was still here, and that it was only a nightmare. “Sherlock?” he called as he reached the bottom of his stairs, too shaken up to care that his voice was shaking. He needed Sherlock.


	5. 5 - John Run

Goddammit! Where the hell was Sherlock? John thought angrily as he ran. He had been following the suspect with Sherlock, when Sherlock had suddenly disappeared, probably taken a turn John had missed, and now _John_ was the one being followed. Well, more like chased. He heard the click of a gun, and ducked out of the way of the bullet just in time. If he got out of this, Sherlock was going to be in a whole heap of trouble. Reaching into his back pocket for his gun, his hand grasped empty air. Sod, Sherlock had taken his gun too! The man seriously needed to stop doing that, especially on cases. Ducking the other way to avoid another bullet, John’s rush of adrenaline was beginning to run out. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer.


	6. 6 - Kidnapped John

John frowns as he comes to. It's dark, and he has to squint, but there's nothing to see. Was he blindfolded? He's tied up, he realised sluggishly, and obviously been drugged. Where was he? And how long had he been here? Last he remembered, he had told Sherlock he was going to get some milk from Tesco's, but he doesn't know what happened next. How did he end up here? He had a niggling suspicion, but he didn't want it to be true. He didn't want Moriarty to be back. His ribs ached, and he concluded he had been jostled about, and quite possibly kicked. He licked his lips and winced. Split lip. Ouch. As his mind started to wake up and struggle free of its drugged haze, he catalogued his injuries. Several bruises on his arms, his left leg was bleeding, and he quite possibly had a bruised foot. Not too bad. His fingers were beginning to get tingly, so he had been here for a while, then, unconscious. Had Sherlock even noticed he was gone for too long, yet? He wanted Sherlock to rescue him at the same time he didn't. He knew Moriarty (if it was indeed him) didn't care for John, and he would only be bait for Sherlock. Please, Sherlock, be safe, he prayed, closing his eyes and waiting in the darkness.  
  
Miss me, Sherlock dear? –M


	7. 7 - Married Sleep

They’d been married for months now. But it still felt as good as it had the first time to wake up with John in his arms. Sherlock was curled around his shorter husband, his chest pressed to John’s back, and their legs intertwined. Waking up, his inner clock telling him it was 6am and he had slept for 4 hours already. He opened his eyes, a soft smile coming to his face as he gaze at his John from where his head rested on the pillow behind John’s head. His arms wrapped firmly around John’s waist, he leant forward and gently brushed his nose against John’s neck, his hands slipping underneath John’s shirt to the warmth below (he knew his ring would be colder than his hands, but he hoped John wouldn’t mind). “I love you,” Sherlock murmured, his love for John seeping through his tone as he whispered it softly into John’s ear.


	8. 8 - Scarier John nightmares

((Prompt: John has nightmares about Sherlock dying (pre-Reichenbach) and tries to keep it from Sherlock, not wanting Sherlock to think him of being “sentimental”, but it becomes more noticeable in John delaying going to bed as long as possible, and the bags under his eyes, and the way he becomes even more protective over Sherlock. Protective!Sherlock appreciated.))

John struggled in his bed, eyes closed and moaning in pain. “No,” he groaned, eyes tightly shut, horrifying images flickering behind his eyelids. Images of Sherlock, eyes a blank, lifeless blue, skin pale white and red blood running down his face. “No!” he shouted, still sleeping, twisting around to try and wake himself up, but just panicking himself further as he got twisted and caught in his sheets. It felt as if they were restraining him, holding him down. Panting, images that he didn’t want to see flashed before him. Sherlock dying. Sherlock staring up at him, dead. Sherlock and him arguing and then seeing Sherlock die. They were horrific. Whimpering, John whipped his head from side to side, hands clenching in the sheets, his feet kicking wildly.


	9. 9 - Proposal

Sherlock and John had been going out for a year and a half now. John hadn’t moved on (or out) or broken up with him, so Sherlock thought it had been going relatively well. John was at work at the moment, and Sherlock paced the flat anxiously. He had been thinking about this for a while. He wanted to marry John. He’d gone to Mycroft (ugh – as much as he hated his brother, he needed his help for this) to sort out a few things before he could do this. He had needed Mycroft to pass the law of gay marriage. Sherlock knew John had noticed his strange(r) behaviour lately, but thankfully hadn’t called him out on it except for occasional ‘Are you alright, Sherlock?’ s. He was just nervous. It was ridiculous. He was Sherlock Holmes! He shouldn’t get _nervous_! But, he’d learnt long ago John brought out all the feelings he thought that he had buried. Night had fallen, and all the flat’s lights were off, instead lit by candles placed strategically around the flat for a warm glow. In his trouser pockets was a black box with two rings on it. They were silver (he detested gold – it looked tacky). The ring on the left was measured precisely to John’s size, and on the inside was engraved ‘Sherlock’s’. The one on the right fit his ring finger precisely (he’d checked multiple times), and was engraved with ‘John’s’. The plan was, the more they wore it, the words would get marked onto their skin. He really hoped John wouldn’t refuse. And he also hoped John wouldn’t laugh at him. Still pacing anxiously, he awaited John’s return, the smell of the dinner he cooked (a roast – with lamb and vegetables!) wafting through the flat. He had the table prepared too – knives and forks, and the best wine he could find – money didn’t matter to him – and wine glasses in their spots. Sherlock really hoped this worked out.


	10. 10 - Body Table

Sherlock can’t help it. They’re on a case, a dead body lying on the table on the morgue, and John was currently inspecting it. He was unable to resist the urge any longer. Taking a quick glance around and determining that they were safely alone, Sherlock strode over to John and placed his hands on either sides of John’s body on the table. Pressing the front of his body flush against the back of John’s, Sherlock bent his head and lightly nibbled on the doctor’s neck, humming softly in pleasure.


	11. 11 - Sherlock Left

((Prompt: Sherlock leaves John when they’re in the middle of a date, because Lestrade texts Sherlock with a case))

He should be used to it by now. He really should. But it still hurt, every time Sherlock leaves in the middle of one of their dates, it doesn’t ease the pain, it just worsens it. He knew Sherlock loved the cases, he understood that, but didn’t John get any time for just him and Sherlock? Sighing, John looked up at the stars from where he sat on the park bench, across the road from the restaurant he’d been having dinner with Sherlock before Lestrade had texted, and wondered if Sherlock had even noticed that John wasn’t with him. Probably not, he thought bitterly to himself, lowering his gaze and glaring at his ‘date shoes’. Maybe he wouldn’t go home tonight. He needed some time to let off some steam and hurt. All the other times, he had gone back, waited for Sherlock and helped with the case, but not tonight. Maybe then Sherlock would notice.


	12. 12 - Supernatural Sherlock and John Mate for Life

Sherlock wasn’t human. That much, he knew. He’d been alive for hundreds of thousands of years. And John, John was his mate. John wasn’t human either, and Sherlock was his mate. They mated for life, and John and Sherlock had only been mated for a few thousand years before _It_ happened. Sherlock’s memory was hazy about what had happened, but he could remember that they’d been chasing a very old, very powerful witch. She’d trapped them. They’d both fought, Sherlock had pride in that fact, but then she’d cast Sherlock unconscious, and when he awoke, he was alone. No witch. No John. He’d been frantic, searching for his mate all over the world, before he finally settled in London. Sherlock had found John, but his mate couldn’t remember him. Sherlock remembered that clearly. John thought he was human. Sherlock stuck close, however, hoping that his mate would remember, but he never did.

 

It was always the same. John would find Sherlock every few centuries (he liked to go away for the war), with a psychosomatic limp and a gunshot wound to his left shoulder that was actually hundreds of thousands of years old. Sherlock never gave up hope, and he never gave up the determination that he would find that blasted witch and rip her to shreds.

 

This time had been no different – besides from all the wonderfully advanced technology – and Sherlock still hoped. Whatever the witch had done to his mate had to wear off sometime, and then he’d remember and they could be together again. This wasn’t like the Dark Ages – gay couples were freely accepted now. Except, John was dating this time. He’d go on dates with /girls/ and denied that he and Sherlock were a couple, and denied that he was gay. Each time Sherlock heard it, it broke his heart just a little bit more.

 

This time, when John brought a girl home, Sherlock could clearly hear her laugh – a laugh that had haunted his dreams for millennia’s – and smell her stench from where he was sitting with his microscope. Sherlock was up in literally a heartbeat, a snarl on his lips. She was here. They’d barely made it into the living room before Sherlock was in front of them and lifting the witch by her throat and pressing her against the wall. “Stay away from him,” Sherlock snarled, forgetting himself and letting his voice drop to its natural deep growling tone.

 

She trilled a laugh, not seeming fazed by the grip he had on her windpipe. “Still so very possessive, I see,” she said with a smile, “I’ll fix that soon.”


	13. 13 - Thunderstorm

Thunder boomed outside, covering the sound of the heavy rain for a few moments, making John bolt upright, heart pounding in his chest. He hated thunderstorms. He always had, but even more so since he’d come back from the war. It reminded him too much of gunshots and bombs exploding. Shuddering, John glanced out the window, biting his lip. As much as he hated feeling helpless and weak, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand the storm alone. He was still hesitant in going to Sherlock, however. He knew the genius was in his room, but it was the middle of the night, and he didn’t want to annoy him. Another rumble of thunder, however, had him shooting from his bed and out his bedroom door. Reaching Sherlock’s door, he didn’t bother to knock, just let himself in and shut the door softly behind him. Another rumble of thunder, and he was beside Sherlock’s bed, shaking slightly. His voice trembled slightly as he whispered, “Sherlock?” into the darkness, heart pounding.


End file.
